


The (Other) Fairy Godparents Job

by RyLee



Category: Leverage
Genre: 7 years pre-series, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Kid Fic, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 04:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12904395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyLee/pseuds/RyLee
Summary: Even before Leverage, Parker, Eliot and Hardison find themselves helping the helpless.Once a upon a time, in a faraway land, a prince and a peasant girl fell in love and had a child, a healthy baby girl. But their happiness was not to last, as the prince’s family disapproved of the union and invoked evil forces to conspire against them. Death took the new parents before their daughter ever had a chance to know them. She was left all alone the world, at the mercy of the same evil that stole away her parents. The child may have met the same ill fate had she not had the good fortune to encounter three blessed benefactors.





	1. The Fae

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for Leverage Big/Mini Bang 2017 and my first time doing a big/mini bang!
> 
> Lovely, adorable moodboard art courtesy of Kae, which can be found here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/12904764

_Once a upon a time, in a faraway land, a prince and a peasant girl fell in love and had a child, a healthy baby girl. But their happiness was not to last, as the prince’s family disapproved of the union and invoked evil forces to conspire against them. Death took the new parents before their daughter ever had a chance to know them. She was left all alone the world, at the mercy of the same evil that stole away her parents. The child may have met the same ill fate had she not had the good fortune to encounter three blessed benefactors._

_The first was a fae seeking to steal a child for the first time. Upon creeping into the castle, she overheard the plot against infant and changed her mind. Rather than spirit her away to the Faerie Realm, the fae brought the girl to a plot of sacred ground to keep her safe._

_“You have had too much taken from from you already, child, so instead I will give you a gift -- a name, so that you may always know who you are.”_

\--

After 98 hours of planning and 13.5 hours of scouting, Parker knew about the security systems, the guard shifts, the servants’ habits and the residents’ schedules.

She knew it would take 6 minutes, 20 seconds to sneak over the wall, across the security camera blind spots in the rose garden and onto the back patio. 35 seconds to pick the door lock and override the exterior door alarm system. 2 minutes, 10 seconds to enter the library, cut through the glass display case and extract the statuette. 7 minutes, 40 seconds to slip down the servants’ staircase, off the grounds and into her getaway vehicle. 

She knew that the the couple living there would be out for a dinner party, the staff had been dismissed for the weekend and the security was manned by a skeleton crew of two retired cops. 

She did not, however, know about the baby. 

To be fair, it seemed the residents hadn’t fully anticipated its presence either, which was why 9 minutes and 48 seconds into the job, she was hiding behind gaudy velvet drapes rather than cutting through sub-par security glass in what should have been an empty library. 

“Can’t you shut that thing up?” hissed the man through clenched jaws, which made the vein in his weirdly uneven chin pop out. He tossed a diaper bag carelessly onto the couch, just missing the baby in its carrier seat. 

“You’re the one who took it!” his wife snapped, sounding irate but it was hard to tell by looking since most of her face was frozen botox-smooth. She nudged the carrier seat with her manicured fingertips in the barest imitation of a rocking motion to no effect. “This was the stupidest thing you could have done. Your brother’s dead, his mistress’s dead, there’s no other family, no one else knew about them. You should have just let it disappear into an orphanage.”

“Are you stupid? That tramp probably bragged to every person she ever met that she got knocked up with the Chesney heir. The old man’s going to kick it soon enough and now that TJ’s out of the picture, I’m not sharing my inheritance with his bastard.”

“So what? We pretend it’s ours? Kids were never part of our agreement.”

“No, no way. It’d look suspicious if we suddenly brought out a kid - one DNA test and it all falls apart. We take care of it, same as we did with the mother.”

Frozen Face nearly managed a grimace. “You killed the mother, I said we should have just paid her off. I’m definitely not killing a baby. Why is this necessary? So some snot-nosed brat will get your brother’s share of inheritance, you still get your share.”

“Maybe you’ve been too drunk to notice all these years but Dad’s spent my entire life playing TJ and I against each other. If there’s a baby in the picture, Dad will happily rewrite the will to give that ankle-biter everything and cut me out -- cut us out -- entirely if we don’t jump to his every single whim every single time.”

Her left eyebrow actually twitched as she weighed the an infant’s future against the inconvenience of indulging her father-in-law. “Ugh, fine. Can’t we just drop it off at a hospital or orphanage or something? Out of state? Canada?”

“We can’t travel that far unnoticed and I’m not bringing anyone else in on this.” The grandfather clock chimed loudly, startling the couple. “Shit, we don’t have time for this. We were supposed to be at Dad’s for dinner half an hour ago. We need to go now or else it’s going to look suspicious.”

“And just leave the kid here alone?”

Her husband snorted, “What’s the worst that can happen? It dies? No one’s here, it’ll keep until we get back.” 

He ushered her out the door without so much as a look back at the child. Tucked behind the curtains, Parker remained still as statuette she was there to steal. Even with the sounds of the baby’s fussing, she felt as though each breath she took was gratingly loud. 

Wait another two minutes for the couple to drive away. Grab the statuette and get out, same plan as before. Nothing needed to change. We don’t get involved, we get out, Archie’s lessons were ingrained as second nature. 

Parker crept out of her hiding place, past the baby and towards her target. Her hands were shaking as she set her pack down and her equipment clattered against the floor. The baby began gave a whimper. Parker glanced over at the infant, a red-faced, dark-haired little girl, judging by the pink bow on her head band. Large, liquid brown eyes gazed back at her like a stab to the gut. 

“Look, I’m sorry you’re in a bad situation but I don’t know anything babies!” she hissed, her throat tight in a way she hadn’t even realized until she started speaking. “I’m a thief, I don’t help people, I can’t do anything for you, I can’t--” 

She let the frustration tense up all over her body for just a moment. Then, she shook herself clear. Parker took stock of the situation. Her goal: A statuette worth a quarter-million. The obstacle: an abducted, crying child. The guards patrolled the outer perimeter and there were no cameras in this room but they might get close enough to hear it. Weird Chin Guy and his Frozen Face wife seemed easily spooked, they could decide to turn back at any moment.

Her options: 

1) Ignore the baby - Baby dies, and Weird Chin Guy and wife get away with murder and a hefty inheritance, 

2) Drop the baby off at an orphanage - Baby probably has a crappy life in foster care, and Weird Chin Guy and wife still get away with murder and a hefty inheritance, or.... 

Parker burst into action, hefting the baby carrier onto an antique table that looked like it had been furnished as a businessman’s work desk but never actually be used. From the accoutrements lined up on the table, she picked up a gilded, silver letter-opener, testing the blade against a corner of the desk blotter. It’s clean, sharp edge neatly sliced into the leather. With one hand, she pulled the infant out of the carrier and and cradled her in the crook of her arm. 

“It’s just a nick, I promise,” she muttered, just pricking the blade into her heal. The baby wailed piteously. “I know, I know but I’m trying to help you, I swear.”

She set the baby back into the carrier, intentionally smearing blood along the carrier seat. The diaper bag offered little in the way of first aid supplies. Instead, she made do with wrapping a clean cloth around her foot. The infant fussed and wriggled, nearly dislodging the makeshift bandage. 

“There must be a toy or something….” She checked through the sparsely-packed bag again, coming up with a few miscellaneous baby care items and a battered, pocket-sized notebook before discovering a soft, brightly colored blanket in a pocket. The vibrant red muslin was patterned with cheerful cartoon rabbits. In several places, the edges were stained darker than the rest, no doubt from being lovingly gummed on. She tucked it around the baby, who cooed and nuzzled and kneaded the fabric like a contented kitten. Parker smiled, “Yeah, bunnies are the awesome, right?”

Grabbing a dust cloth from a shelf, she hastily wiped the blade clean and replaced the letter opener on the desk. The dust cloth went into the waste bin but not before she used it to streak just a slightest smudge of red on one table leg. Parker grabbed her pack of tools along with the baby carrier and bag, checking that her planned escape route was still clear. Just before darting out into the hallway, she shot a forlorn glance at the statuette she had come to steal. “I’ll be back for you, little bronze man.”

\--

Parker spent the rest of the day driving more slowly than she ever had before in her life. She darted into her apartment with the sleeping child tucked against her chest in a makeshift sling formed from a blanket and her second-best rappel harness. Picking up her phone, she mulled over what to do. She could think of a couple of not-entirely-terrible foster parents, but they would be too concerned about paperwork and legality to be of any real help. There was also a half-decent group home, but they didn’t take infants. In the end, there was really only one person to call.

“Hey Archie, I stole a baby,” she blurted out as soon as she heard Archie answer. Parker could hear swearing and fumbling, like someone had nearly dropped the phone.

“Parker? Is that you? Did you say a baby? A real, live one?” The alarm in Archie’s voice made Parker’s heart leap into her throat. Archie didn’t panic, not unless it was really bad, so that meant this was really bad, oh god, what had she done?

“Yeah, I messed up, sir, I know I did but they were going to kill her and I couldn’t let that happen, I just--”

“Okay, okay, slow down, kiddo. Just start from the beginning and explain everything.” 

She recounted what happened and everything she overheard. “I couldn’t just leave her there, so I took her. I didn’t even get the statuette since I couldn’t carry it all--babies are heavier than they look-- anyways, I tossed her carrier and bloody blanket into a dumpster at the strip mall and I called in a tip to 911 about it from a pay phone. Told them a dodgy looking couple threw away a bunch of bloody baby stuff and gave them the license plate number. They should be able to find the stuff in the dumpster pretty easily enough though it’ll take some time for them to process. For now, I figured I’d lay low? I got bandages for her cut and some diapers and baby formula and bottles. That’s enough, right? The lady I met in the store said she looks too young for baby food, so I just got milk -- I mean, formula -- she said little babies can’t actually have actual milk -- cow milk -- which makes sense since she’s a human-baby not a cow-baby--.” 

“Breath, Parker.”

“She’s asleep now. It’s been a long day so she’ll probably sleep a while, right? But the lady said they don’t usually sleep through the night at this young, so should I stay awake to wait up for her? Or would it be better for me to nap too? If she wakes up alone what will she do? Do babies even do anything?”

“Kiddo, don’t panic.” Archie’s soft voice cut through adrenaline racing in Parker’s chest. “You’ve done good.” 

The tension drained out of her shoulders and she slumped onto a chair. “I can’t keep her, Archie,” she murmured. 

“No, Parker, you can’t.” The confirmation left her feeling more bereft than she had expected. Archie sighed. “I know you don’t want to hear this but foster care is the best option.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering all the ways that could go wrong. “No, no, what if she ends up somewhere bad? She’s just a baby, she can’t run away--”

“Listen, Parker, I have an old friend out east -- forger turned straight. She’s a minister, been at it for years now and she’s good people. Her church will take in infants, no questions asked. And she makes sure they’ll end up somewhere safe, I promise.”

“Are you sure? Can we trust her with this? Even out-of-state there’s going to be heat on this, if she’s been out of the game that long...”

“Remember I told you about that time in I was nearly nabbed in Sydney pulling a Bavarian Box Step? When our roper turned on us and the rest of the crew bailed once the cops showed up, Allison was one who stuck around and got me out. Crazy old bat even stole an ambulance to do it.”

The story rang a bell. “The one you rescued from that French drug dealer, right?”

“Yes, twice. So she owes me. Alli’s smart, she’ll know what to do. I’ll make the arrangements. Lay low for now, I’ll let you know when everything’s ready. And get some sleep whenever you can, kiddo, you’re going to need it. ”

\---

Four days later, Parker, bleary-eyed by erratic sleep, switched on the TV as she dumped two kinds of cereal with milk, cocoa powder and a mocha frappuccino into a bowl for breakfast. She sprawled out along the couch, one leg stretching out to gently push the antique treasure chest she had Macgyvered into a rocking bassinet. The baby slept soundly, her face smushed against the soft fabric of her favorite bunny blanket. 

On screen, a stern-faced red-head stood in front of a familiar mansion with several police cars surrounding the premises. “ _Randall Chesney and his wife, Adaline Chesney have been taken into custody for questioning in connection with the death of Theresa Ong, an engineer at his father’s company, Vertronics Defense, in a car crash last week. Ong recently gave birth to a daughter who is currently missing. Sources have indicated that the baby may in fact be the child of Jameson Taylor Chesney, Randall Chesney’s older brother, who died under suspicious circumstances earlier this year. Police have issued an AMBER alert for the unnamed child._ ”

A sidebar pulled up on screen with the AMBER alert information. No picture, no name, just “Baby Girl Ong” along with her birthdate and physical description. 

“No name yet, huh?” Parker said. She dug into the diaper and fished out the notebook. She had browsed through it earlier, finding mostly notes about errands and shopping lists. There had been a few pages with names, the ones on the first page all ended in “Chesney” but were crossed out. The subsequent names written all ended in “Ong”. Parker had initially assumed it was contact list of family members but now...

She flipped through it again, girls names, all of them. Most were crossed out, a handful had stars next to them. 

‘Katie’? No, all the Katies she’d known were all brats. ‘Olivia’, maybe? It’s a nice name but the last Olivia she met had been rather somber - sweet kid but always sad. ‘Erika’ just sounded evil. What about ‘Beatrice’? Parker sat up a little to peek over the edge of the makeshift crib at the sleeping baby. 

“Beatrice?” she whispered. The baby shifted a little, her eyes peeping open for a moment before dozing back to sleep. “I like that. I’ve never met a Beatrice. Well, I had a neighbor called Bea once, she was nice. Maybe she was a Beatrice. You kinda look like her.”

The baby blinked her eyes open, fully awake this time. She cooed at the dangling mobile made from the Austrian crown jewels. Parker grinned. “Yeah, you’re a Beatrice, alright.”

\---

Two weeks later the arrangements were all in place. Archie left her with very specific instructions.

“Be careful that nothing that can be traced back to her parents, or to you. Most people think that that couple killed her but no one likes to give up hope on a kid. People are still looking for her.”

Weird Eyebrow Guy and his wife had been arrested and charged a week earlier. The vultures were already circling, with business partners pulling out and creditors looking to get paid before they went to jail. His father had ordered their art collection, including Parker’s statuette, to be shipped off to his own home in Chicago, which undoubtedly had a better security system. The Chesney patriarch had also issued an announcement, offering a multi-million award for information leading to return of “his” granddaughter, whom he had the gall to name “Dolores.” Parker very nearly threw a gold brick at the TV. 

“I know, Archie, I know. But her bunny blankie’s okay, right? She can’t sleep without it.” Parker would know. Attempts to do laundry during bedtime had failed catastrophically. 

“So long as it wasn’t in the police report I sent you. Definitely not the diaper bag, the cops know what that looks like.”  
Parker had spent the last few days replacing all the baby things with the most generic versions she could find. To give Pastor Allison some measure of plausible deniability, they had set up a dead drop. Parker would leave Beatrice with her things by the side entrance of the church at midnight, and the pastor would come out to retrieve the child exactly one minute later. 

At two minutes before midnight, Parker crept into the alley leading to the side entrance of the church. She set the new baby carrier down by the door and checked that baby was warmly settled in. “Alrighty Beatrice, we’re all set.”

Parker froze… the baby wouldn’t be “Beatrice” after today. She wouldn’t even be “Baby Girl Ong”. She would just be another lost Jane Doe, with nothing to her name because she wouldn’t even have a name. A lump formed in Parker’s throat. 

They stole her parents, they stole her money, they don’t get to steal her name.

Parker pulled out the battered notebook with the list of names on it from her pocket. She had planned on burning the whole thing as soon as this was done. Instead, she flipped to the last page of names where “Beatrice Ong” had been scrawled with a cheerful star next to it. Carefully, she ripped around the edges, leaving only a scrap with the first name visible. Parker tucked the note securely into the carrier next to the bunny blankie. Blinking away her watering eyes, she smacked a quick kiss on baby’s forehead. “Bye bye, Beatrice. Have a good life.”

Parker turned on her heel and walked away. She had a plane to Chicago to catch.


	2. The Fallen Angel

_The second benefactor was a guardian angel, fallen from his path. He had been tasked by a demon to turn a cleric to corruption. Upon seeing the child under the cleric’s care, he remembered the sacred duty he once held. He defended the cleric and child from attackers and upon departing, left a talisman of protection._

_“The world can be cold and cruel. You should have a friend to keep you safe.”_

\---

This was lackey work and Eliot knew damn well this was punishment for calling an audible on the last job. Moreau didn’t say it in so many words but it was evident from his sardonic little sigh, “You’re not a Boy Scout anymore, Eliot. There's no such thing as ‘civilian casualties’ in this world.”

And then promptly sent him on a “mission” to hustle a pastor. 

No, not a pastor, a forger, Eliot reminded himself. Just another “retired” grifter, same as a hundred others. People like them never really get out of the game.

He had the intel memorized. Rev. Allison Torres, by all accounts she went by her real name now but her file had dozen and a half aliases. Supposedly the best documents forger in the game, thought to be out until she popped up on the radar again a week ago. 

And of course, Moreau never settled for anything less than the best.

Eliot was sent to hire her for a quick one-time job - just a batch of clean passports for a few warlords. But there's no such thing as a “one-time” job with Moreau. He may as well have been there to deliver a devil's contract.

He crept into the church by a side door in the early hours just before the church opened to the public, hoping to avoid confrontation with any bystanders. Sure enough, he could hear the sounds of paper shuffling in the pastor's office. Eliot huffed a sigh. Better get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible.

He stepped into the open office doorway, knocking on the frame in some semblance of professional politeness. She was facing away from him, putting away files on a bookshelf in the far side of the room. The pastor was a short, plump woman with a mass of salt and pepper curls spilling out from a hair clip. Eliot clocked a door in the back, probably to a closet or storage room, unlikely to be an exit based on the layout of the building. He settled into a relaxed but ready stance. There was no reason to expect a physical altercation but it never hurt to be on guard. The pistol issued to him by Moreau sat uncomfortably in a shoulder holster. It was obscured by his jacket but evident to anyone who knew what to look for.

“I don't know how you got in but we're not open for another hour. Unless this is an emergency, you shou-- oh.” Her steady glare told him that she knew exactly why her was there.

Eliot fought the urge to fidget under her gaze. He suddenly had flashbacks to Mrs. Williams, the Sunday school teacher who twisted his ear when he lied about falling asleep during sermons. 

He nearly didn't notice her edging towards a rather hefty looking crucifix. Nearly.

“Now, Reverend, I'm not here to make trouble. Just to offer you a job. You'll be well compensated.” He shifted slightly, letting his holster just peek through.

Pastor Allison raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Unless you're one of the good Lord’s angels, I'm not taking any kind of job. I haven't done anything of the sort in years.”

“Really? Word on the street says it's been barely a week.”

Her lips twisted in disdain, “I knew that Richards brat couldn't be trusted. These hacker kids have no sense of discretion.”

He couldn't argue that. The skinny nerd had bragged about working with a legendary forger to anyone who cared to listen. 

“Well, Reverend, I can assure you that my employer has the utmost discretion. In addition to your standard payment, we’ll ensure that you remain undisturbed.”

She scoffed, “I already have a collar, I’m not changing it out for yours. Who's this employer anyways? Got to be a heavy hitter if he's using ex-Black Ops for errand boys.”

Eliot blinked at her. “How…? I mean, as I've said, we value discretion. I’m happy to go over the terms of the deal if--”

Faint footsteps interrupted his pitch. By the side door, same way he came in. It sounded like three people, maybe, though the echoing hallways made it difficult to be sure. 

“Anyone else tend to come in early other than you, Rev?”

She shook her head and drawled, “You got tailed, kid. Or maybe your employer thought you needed back-up?”

He scowled at her. He had checked his tracks thrice over, there was no way it was a tail. Moreau was paranoid but even he wouldn't waste resources on something like this. “Or your hacker blabbed even more than you thought.” 

“Well then, how about you and Johnny-come-lately hash this out off church grounds? Maybe in the park down the block?”

“Nice try, Rev, but you're not wriggling out of this.”

From the footsteps, he figured three guys inside, possibly a fourth outside playing lookout. That many people meant low-level, some gang or another that needed to show off.

A clatter of metal and wood rang out, and Eliot could picture one of the guys stumbling against the large flower display he had passed by earlier. Another man hissed admonishments at him. The noise echoed down the hall. 

“Ah shit, Russians,” Pastor Allison muttered. Eliot smirked but before he could say anything she held up a hand, “Don't start with me, son. I'm still not convinced this wasn't your fault.”

He held up his hands in placation. “I promise you my boss can pay more than the Russians. And I bet they won't ask you half as nicely as I have.”

“Right, because working for another scumbug with more money and a bigger ego is clearly--” her retort was cut off by a thin, short wail. Pastor Allison froze for a split second and then in a flurry, she rushed at him, herding him towards the hallway. “You know what, let’s just get this settled for once and--”

Eliot pushed past her to open the back door where he could hear more faint cries. It was a small room with boxes of old pamphlets and decorations stack against the walls. Off to one side, was a bassinet with a crying child inside. 

“Aw, hey there, sweetheart,” he murmured, picking her up. “Did we wake you up? I’m sorry.” He rocked her gently, soothing her back asleep. 

Pastor Allison stood stock still in the doorway, jaw clenched tight. “Stay away from her, don’t you dare…”

The warning trailed off as Eliot handed the child to her. “I’m not going to hurt her. She’s got nothing to do with this. We need to get her out of here. You got a back way out of this place?”

She shook her head, holding the baby close. “No, just the way you came through and the main door.”

“Well, we gotta--” The footsteps and voices got louder. Sounded like only two people now, did the echoes throw him off? Or maybe the third stayed by the door to play lookout?

Pastor Allison stared at him, assessing for a moment and asked, “Do you promise not to hurt her? That you’ll keep her safe?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied on instinct. She shoved the child back into his arms. Briskly, she gathered up the baby things strewn about the room and tossed them into a diaper bag before thrusting that at him too.

“Play along and I’ll take the job.”

“What--?” He held the baby close in one arm while juggling the diaper bag. She guided him out of the room. They could see the two goons approaching just as they emerged. 

“There now!” she exclaimed brightly. “She was an absolute angel.” She gave Eliot a terrifyingly chipper smile. 

“That’s...good to hear, Rev. It’s uh, it’s always tough to find a last minute babysitter, thanks for stepping in.”

“Not a problem,” she said, walking him right past the two goons, without so much as a blink. She patted his elbow and locked eyes with him.“Get home safe now, and we’ll see you both here tomorrow for Sunday service.”

Eliot nodded, “Yes, ma’am, we’ll be there.”

As he walked away, he could hear her cheerfully asking, “So what can I do for your gentlemen?”

With a shaky breath, Eliot readjusted the baby to sit more securely in the crook of his arm. He had babysat his nephews before. One day with this little one should be easy enough. He decided to leave by the main entrance; it would take him further away from the goons in case they got any ideas but Eliot was confident that the ex(?)-forger could talk her way out of trouble. The tattoos was a giveaway for the goons - mid-level Russian mob, well-connected but they weren’t going to be as picky as Moreau. So long as she directed them to someone competent, they’d leave her alone--

“Eliot Spencer?!” Eliot turned abruptly towards the hallway to the side entrance where a vaguely familiar thug was lumbering towards him. Looks like he was right before, it had been three guys.

“Uh, look man, I don’t know what--”

Pulling out a gun, the thug growled, “Krakow, two years ago, you got away then but you won’t now.”

A memory of a shootout in a rainy plaza flickered in his mind’s eye. Oh right, this guy -- mediocre marksman, bad right knee, all brawn, no speed. Eliot threw the diaper bag at the thug’s head before he had time to properly aim. While the thug was still reeling, Eliot lunged towards him, free arm coming up to grab the weapon as he delivered a vicious side kick into his solar plexus. The second the goon loosened his grip on the gun, Eliot snagged it, disassembling the weapon one-handed and tossing the magazine as far away as possible. 

Crouching low, the Russian slid a switchblade out from his boot. That was a mistake, as Eliot kicked out his supporting knee with a sickening crunch (that’s two bad knees now) and grabbed the knife. 

The commotion drew the attention of the other two goons and woke up the baby again. Eliot rocked her gently, whispering soothing nonsense noises to quiet her fussing. He barely looked over his shoulder as he threw the knife at the guy in front, lodging it in his right shoulder. His gun fell his slack fingers as the man swore loudly, trying to pull it out with his off hand.

Goon #3 had enough of a sense of self-preservation to not face Eliot head on. Unfortunately, he lacked any other good sense and instead grabbed the pastor. “Give up now! Or else--”

Eliot sighed, “Seriously, man? She’s the whole reason any of us is here. There’s no point in taking a hostage if we all know you won’t hurt her.” Pastor Allison wormed her way loose just enough to shoot a “how stupid are you” up look at the man. The baby continued fussing and Eliot switched her to his other arm, still swaying soothingly. “And keep it down, will ya? You woke her up again.”

Goon #3 faltered in confusion. The pastor took the chance and stomped on his foot before swinging a nearby candelabra and clocking him in the head. He went down cold.

The first thug made a valiant effort to recover, hauling himself upright and lunging at Eliot woozily. Eliot knocked him out easily with an elbow to the face, however, it was enough of a distraction that he didn’t see Goon #2 approaching. He had managed to pull the switchblade out of his shoulder as well as his own knife, slashing at Eliot with both weapons.

One blade cut deeply across the bicep of his free arm and the other one dug into his side. Eliot aimed a kick at the guy and missed, but the goon stumbled as he dodged out of the way. He tripped over the unconscious body of Goon #3, landing flat on his ass next to him. Still wielding the heavy brass candelabra, Pastor Allison knocked him out with a solid blow to the top of the head. 

Eliot collapsed into the pew, taking care to still keep the baby steady in his good arm. “I think you’d better take her, Rev. Don’t want to get blood on her.”

She took the child back, checking her over. “Not a scratch on her. You, on the other hand...I might have some sewing supplies and a few first aid things. Take care of those wounds before you pass out, you’ll be of no good to anybody.”

The pastor strolled back to her office, stepping over two unconscious thugs on her way. Eliot snagged the nearby diaper bag, rummaging for something to staunch his wounds. A couple of clean, white blankets were sacrificed to bandage up his side. The only remaining thing he found was a red muslin blanket with cartoon bunnies but he couldn’t afford to be picky. Gripping it between his good hand and his teeth, he tied up his wounded bicep. 

The pastor reappeared, holding the baby and a bottle. “That’s her favorite blanket, you know,” she said dryly.

“Sorry, not a lot of options here. I’ll wash it and get it back to you, I promise. I can make some calls, clean up this mess,” he said, gesturing to the three men. 

\---

A sharp cry woke Eliot up. For a brief moment he forgot where he was. He tried to sit up quickly, before falling prone again as his stab wound protested. He remembered calling an associate to deal with the three Russian goons, dumping them at the police station with an anonymous tip. He had headed back to the church immediately to make sure that the pastor wouldn’t try to skip town. True to her word, she had still been there, completely unsurprised that he had returned with his wounds unattended. She had stitched him up and told him he could camp out on the sofa in their rec room if he was so loathe to leave her alone. 

Eliot checked his wounds. The stitching job on his side was neat, if amateurish. The wound didn’t appear to have hit anything important. He had recovered from worse. Gingerly undoing the blanket wrapped around his bicep, he saw that those stitches had ripped open again. Inspecting the muslin blanket, he groaned in dismay.

It might have be salvageable had he not slept with it overnight and reopened his stitches. He could tell that even after repeated washings, the brown splotches would probably remain evident. 

He carefully hauled himself to his feet and staggered over to the bassinet where the cries the were coming from.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t think you really want this back.” Her lips wobbled and her wails intensified.

“What have you done to her now?” Pastor Allison said, picking up the baby and bouncing her gently. “It’s okay, honey, the scary man’s sorry he bled all over your blanky.”

Eliot scowled at being called ‘scary’ but he couldn’t really deny it. “She seems pretty attached to it.”

“There’s been a lot of change in her life lately. It’s only familiar thing she’s got left.” 

Eliot sighed. “And I ruined it. What’s her deal anyway? I’m guessing you’re not just babysitting.”

“Her name’s Beatrice. Found her by the church door. The papers I worked on last week were for her. I’ve got a couple of ideas for possible adoptive parents but that takes time to arrange. Given yesterday’s little adventure, I think I may need to put her with a foster family first.”

“It’s probably not going to look to good to any foster home if she shows up with the blood-stained rag in her carrier, huh?”

“Hm, probably not,” she remarked, stroking the baby’s head as she continued to cry. 

He shook out the blanket to check out the full extent of the damage. One edge was frayed from where he held it with his teeth to tie it up. The bloodstains were mostly concentrated in the center, but about have of the blanket looked clean-ish. Looking at the cartoon bunny print, he suddenly remembered something this one au pair he had dated had shown him.

He turned it this way and that, seeing how much cloth was usable. “Hey, Rev, you got a sewing kit I can borrow?”

She raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. “Depends, you planning on bleeding all over my sofa?”

He chuckled. “No, ma’am, I can stitch myself up in the washroom. Just trying to see if I can save something of this for the little darling.”

“Sewing supplies are in the cabinet to your left, second drawer. First aid supplies are under the sink in the washroom”

Stitching up his arm only took a couple of minutes, washing out the blanket took longer. In the end, he found about half the cloth was probably clean enough to keep. After scrutinizing the cloth carefully for other stains and rips, he got to work.

Ah hour later, Eliot emerged to find the pastor setting up breakfast and Beatrice lying on the sofa, surrounded by cushions. 

“Hi there, sweetie, I got a little friend for you, am I forgiven?” he asked, proffering the muslin blanket, cleaned, reshaped and sewn up into a little stuffed rabbit about the size of his palm

She grabbed it in one chubby fist and examined it with an intense look before popping one floppy ear in her mouth and gurgling happily around it. Eliot grinned. “I’ll take that as a win.”

The ex-forger looked almost impressed. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Used to date an au pair.”

She barked out a short laugh. “Alright, you held up your end of the bargain. What’s the job?”

Eliot took a long look at his surroundings. This woman was someone who genuinely retired, left the con game and used her skills to help people. It was getting harder to look at himself in the mirror everyday, if he dragged her into Moreau’s orbit, he might not be able to manage it tomorrow.

“You know what, I got a different job for you. It doesn’t pay anything but it might get you out of the game for good.”

“I’m all ears.”

He briefed her on his plan as they had breakfast. She took a long drink of coffee and sat quiet for a minute. “It might work. I can get the documents together in a day or two. You’ll really have to sell it to your boss though.”

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry about that.”

“Why are you doing this anyways? You didn’t seem to have a problem with roping me yesterday.”

“Well,” he said, nodding over to sofa where Beatrice was playing with her new bunny friend, “I don’t want criminals lining up at your door. After all, I promised to keep her safe.”

\---

A week later, Eliot returned to Moreau’s mansion with two large envelopes. He tossed one onto Moreau’s desk. “The forged passports you ordered.”

Moreau smirked up at him, pulling out the documents for examination, “I expected you back two days ago. Did you have trouble getting help from our holy forger?”

“You got the documents, didn’t ya? They’re top-notch, no one would be able to tell they were fakes.”

Moreau flipped through the entire batch. “Yes, I think our friends would be very pleased with these. Did you pay our new associate yet? I wouldn’t want our relationship to get off on the wrong foot.”

Eliot tossed the second envelope at him. “Yes and no. Found a different forger, new guy down in Mexico. He’s with the cartels at the moment but he’s looking for a change in employer. This was his audition. I think he’d be a good fit.”

With a dramatic sigh, Moreau leaned back his chair, ignoring the second envelope. “Oh Eliot, I was so hoping you had learned your lesson about going off on your own. I didn’t ask you to make hiring decisions, I asked to get a specific forger to do a specific job. What’s the matter? Did you have a crisis of conscience?”

“No,” Eliot lied calmly. “I went to the reverend, but she seemed a bit...off. Did a little digging and found this.” He tore open the envelope himself and handed over the stack of expertly forged medical files. “Mid-stage Alzheimer’s. The woman’s nearly 75. She seems sharp at first glance but the symptoms are there. From the files, it looks like she’s got maybe another year before she loses the plot completely. Not sure that’s the kind of person we want controlling sensitive data.”

Moreau flipped through the documents. “Hm, okay, not a bad call, Spencer, but you could have reported back instead of finding some new guy on your own,” he said, mock-scoldingly.

“Could have, but you hired me ‘cause I can think on my own. You got bigger things to worry about.”

Shaking his head, Moreau chuckled. “You know what, I like you, Spencer. You are going to go far here. Alright, you’re forgiven. Go get some rest.” 

Eliot nodded. “Thank you, sir.” 

As he turned to leave, Moreau said, “One more thing, Eliot. Just so you understand, you can’t protect everyone.”

“...Yes, sir, I know.” Walking out the room, he muttered under his breath, “But I can damn well try.”


	3. The Wizard

_The third was a wizard, barely out of childhood himself, training under the care of the village matriarch. When the child was delivered to the village matriarch and the wizard, an orphan himself, took an interest in the new foundling. He studied his books and used his spells to see far and wide._

_“It is a lonely thing, to be an orphan. I shall find you family, and with it, a future.”_

\---

Between Nana’s hip, Taylor’s diabetes and Hardison’s own asthma problems, the hospital staff was so accustomed to seeing Hardison around the hallways that it was hardly a surprise that he managed to slip into the admin only area without anyone stopping him. He was careful to pick a quiet time, when most of the staff would be out on rounds and this section was mostly empty. He ducked into the labyrinthine records room and began searching for Nana’s medical files. 

It took him nearly twenty minutes, two false leads and a sideways detour to reorganize a shelf (because seriously this place was a mess) before he found the right set of files in a box located just a little too high out of his reach. He could not wait for his growth spurt to finish, he had shot up 2 inches so far and his pediatrician said he was on track to top 6 feet. He’d like to see Tommy Marks try to loom over him for homework answers then. 

He tugged at the file box a little too vigorously and it thumped down right on top of his foot, already aching from a day of walking in too-small sneakers. 

“Crap! Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, craaaap!” he hissed, hopping up and down on his good foot.

He was too distracted to notice that someone else had entered the records room until she was right in front of him. A short woman in nurse scrubs strode into view, the bottom half of her face obscured by a surgical mask. 

She crossed her arms and stared down at him. “I don’t think you’re meant to be here, young man.” He wasn’t sure how that even worked given that she only came up to his chest height.

Hardison yelped in surprise and backed up, nearly tripping over the filebox again. “Hi there! Um, yes, ma’am, sorry ma’am! I uh...I just got lost looking for… for, the uh, little boy’s room?”

The nurse jerked a thumb at the door. “South end of the hallway, out of the admin only area.”

He nodded vigorously, “Right, right, of course, I’ll just go now. ‘Cause, you know, I really gotta go pee.” Hardison straightened out his sweatshirt in an attempt to look a little more respectable. “Yeah, uh thanks for the help, Nurse… Nurse Morrison?” He paused, squinting at her ID badge. Wait a second...that can’t be right. He shot her a cheeky grin and declared, “You’re not Nurse Morrison.”

The nurse shot him a withering glare. “Kid, I don’t know what you’re getting at but---”

“See, I spend a lot of time in this hospital and I know all the ortho nurses here, including Nurse Linda Morrison, who is at least a foot and half taller than you and is currently 8 months pregnant and out on maternity,” he said smugly, puffing up in adolescent confidence. 

Not-Nurse-Morrison looked down at her own ID badge and squeaked out a surprised noise. “Huh! Admin must have gotten our info mixed up when making our badges. I’m Lina Morrison, just transferred from St. Agnes--”

“Uh uh,” he shook his head, grinning wider even though it made his gums pull gratingly against his newly tightened braces. “That ID badge has the logo on the right and they switched out the nurses’ ID badges to the left side logo two days ago. The old ID badges shouldn’t even work anymore.” 

Caught redhanded, the woman groaned and rubbed her temples. She was quiet for a long moment, just glaring at him. Hardison was just starting to feel really awkward when she finally sighed loudly and said, “How about this, kid. You do what you need to do, I’ll do what I need to do and we go our separate ways and pretend this never happened?”

Hardison was tempted by the offer. He still needed to grab Nana’s files and this little old lady hardly seemed like a major threat. But then again, he knew perfectly well that scumbags came in all shapes and sizes. Screwing up his confidence, he replied, “Look, lady, I’m not the one sneaking in with a forged ID badge. How do I know you’re not here to steal a bunch of private information to try and con cancer patients or something?”

The woman rolled her eyes heavenward and appeared to be exasperatedly muttering a prayer. In the end, she pulled down her mask and showed him the set of medical files she had tucked under her arm. The picture and description in the file matched her perfectly. “Look, I just came to… ‘fix’ my own medical files, alright? I’m not going to touch anybody else’s.”

He examined the pages intently, looking back and forth between her face and the picture probably more times than he strictly needed to before nodding. “Fine. I believe you, ‘Allison Torres.’” He had only begun reading up on forgery techniques a few months ago but even he could tell this was top notch. Hardison flashed her a sly grin and added, “I like the coffee cup stain at the top, that was a nice touch.”

Despite herself, she huffed a short laugh. “Alright kid, I showed my hand, how about yours?”

He shrugged one shoulder and muttered, “I just needed to double-check some information in the files.”

“What are you, Doogie Howser?” she said, with a skeptical air. “The truth, kid.”

“...And I maybe need to ‘fix’ some files myself. Look, I’m not doing anything really wrong. It’s just the computer system in this place is completely useless and outdated and I know for a fact that some of the hardcopy records have the right info, if I can just get it all together maybe somebody around here will finally listen to me,” he vented. Hardison took in a deep breath and reminded himself to shut up and stop blabbing to the fake nurse.

She wandered over, glancing through the file box. She looked up at him abruptly and asked, “Nadine Washington?”

Hardison froze. His first instinct was to keep his Nana out of this as much as possible. He still didn’t really know who this woman was and what she might be doing. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just knocked that over by accident and --”

“You’re one of her fosters, aren’t you?”

Oh crap, she knew Nana, this was bad, this was really bad. Who was this woman? A con artist targeting desperate foster parents? Or some kind of undercover cop? He felt his chest tighten.

“Kid, calm down. You’re starting to wheeze.” She put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. He reached into the pouch of his sweatshirt and pulled out his inhaler. After a couple of puffs and some deep breaths, he felt his heart rate slow down to a normal pace. She patted his shoulder. “I’m not trying to get you in trouble, son. I uh… I’m friends with her priest. I know she’s good people.”

Hardison nodded. He fidgeted with his inhaler and looked at the counter - 10 uses left. He had to make it stretch until the summer when he could get a part-time job. “Please don’t tell her about this. She doesn’t need more things to worry about. I was just trying to help.”

The woman rubbed her eyes, which Hardison just noticed were slightly bloodshot, like from lack of sleep. She looked like she was about to just leave him when instead, she sighed and pulled out her wallet and an identification card. “Cards on the table: I’m a pastor. I’m at the Covenant Church, three blocks from here?”

Hardison stared at the ID card with wide eyes and a healthy amount of skepticism. She already had one forged ID but then again, this one had a name that matched the hospital files and if what she said was true, he could easily verify it just by talking with Nana’s priest on Sunday. But a pastor? Seriously? He looked back at her. “Ooookay….?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m trying to help you here, so why don’t you tell me the full story, son?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Hardison folded. 

“Look, this place keeps giving me the runaround. My Nana’s been here three times in the last year for her hip and the bills they charge are crazy. I mean, I know surgery is expensive but there’s all this other sutff and it all adds up and we can’t afford anything like that!” he exclaimed, arms flailing, “After the first time, the hospital said that there’s some kind of financial assistance program where they can cut us a break and help us out with a payment plan. Nana was still recovering, so I made all those calls and it took, like, weeks of being shuffled around before someone finally set us up. That was fine for a while, but then that person left and Nana got an infection and had to come back in again and since then, it’s like no one’s ever heard of any kind of financial assistance! They keep charging us these ridiculous prices like $10 for a Tylenol! Not a bottle, just the one pill! That’s more than we spend on a meal and there’s five of us, it’s ridiculous!” 

A hiccup threatened to bubble up his throat and Hardison swallowed hard to keep it down. “And so eventually she just said she didn’t need to be in the hospital any longer but of course she did. She was still recovering but she never let us see until one morning, she just...couldn’t even get out of bed, the pain was so bad and ended up right back here again anyways and...and…” He broke off with a loud sniffle. 

Allison moved to hand him a tissue, “Son, it’s okay--”

“I’m fine! I’m fine! It’s just allergies. This place is dusty, is all.” he said, wiping his face against a too-big sleeve. He straightened up, trying to puff himself up again. “Like I said, I’m not doing anything wrong, I’m just making sure the hospital let’s us pay what they said they would.”

The pastor stuck the tissue out in front of him again. “And how’s your Nana now?”

Hardison sniffed loudly again, finally taking the tissue. “She’s doing fine. Got out two weeks ago, with the doctors’ full blessing. She recovers super fast, all the doctors say so. It’s just these damn bills keep piling up, I swear they’re charging us for things we’ve already paid for.” 

“Would these files have the billing records? I thought that’s all on the computer nowadays.”

Shaking his head, Hardison said, “If only it were that easy. The computer files are shi-- I mean, a mess. The medical files don’t tie properly with the billing records, and accounts receivable is on a different system from everything else. But I know for a fact that there was a hard copy of the original reduced payment plan. It’s somewhere in this box, I’m sure of it.” He sat down on the floor and started flipping through the files looking for it.

She crouched down and began helping him. “So...how do you know all that about the hospital’s computer systems?”

“...I’m good with computers,” he replied.

“What? The nurses ask you for IT help or something?”

He coughed. “I uh, may have kinda, sorta hacked in and taken a peek.”

“A hacker, huh? You kids and and your computers,” she muttered. Flipping through the documents, she found found a set a stapled set of pages, half-folded and stuck between another set of old handwritten notes. She pulled it out and flattened out the pages - the document was title ‘Financial Assistance Plan’. Handing it over, she asked, “This what you were looking for?”

He grabbed it eagerly, speed-reading through the document. “Yes! Yes, this is it! Thank you so much!”

“Glad to hear it. I was wondering, with your computer skills… you mind helping me out a couple of things?” Hardison deflated instantly. He knew this was too good to be true… She held up a hand to stem his panic. “I’m not trying to extort you, son. Hear me out, if it sounds like something you want to help out it with, that’d be great. Otherwise, we walk out of here, no hard feelings, I swear.”

“Okay… fine, what d’you need?”

“First of all, you think you can help me get the computer records updated to match these files?” she asked, holding up her set of forged documents.

Hardison shrugged, “Sure, that’s a cinch.”

“And secondly… you think your Nana’s up for fostering another kid for a couple of weeks?”

\---

Hardison sat in front of his computer, with a dark-haired baby securely strapped in front of him in a carrier. As he swayed back and forth in time with his blasting music, she giggled and her pacifier fell out from her mouth. Not a problem, since Hardison had tied it up to a strap clipped to her bib. She reached out for the brightly colored bottle in front of her.

“Nuh uh uh,” Hardison said, moving it out of the way and giving her back the pacifier as a consolation prize, “No orange soda for babies.”

He went back to typing rapidly on the computer, occasionally stopping to do a drool check and wipe her chin. After a little while, the pacifier was spat out again in favor of fussing and flailing limbs. Hardison glanced at the time.

“Oh, sorry, Miss Bea, didn’t mean to make you sit there for so long.” He got up to retrieve her little red bunny from her box of toys. She calmed down instantly. “You wanna take a walk around the block? We can go say hi to Mr. Thomas and his kitty cat at the bodega.”

She gave a cheerful little cry that he took for agreement. “Sounds like a plan, Miss Bea, lemme grab your sunhat and we’ll head out.”

Heading down the hallway, Hardison popped his head into the the room next door. The toddlers, Shayla and Taylor were still down for their nap. AJ, the 9-year-old, was reading a book on the floor next to them. When Hardison whispered an invitation to go out on a walk with them, the solemn little boy shook his head and went back to his book. Hardison let him be - the kid had been with them for barely three months, he would need need more time to open up. 

Heading out towards the front door, Hardison could hear familiar voices in the kitchen. 

“Hardison! And Beatrice! How are you doing?”

“Oh, hey Pastor Allison,” Hardison said with a smile. In the last few weeks, the pastor had been a regular visitor in their home. Despite the awkward first meeting, Hardison found her to be a surprisingly trustworthy confidant. She, in turn, had trusted him and Nana with Beatrice. Hardison lifted the baby’s hand in a little wave. “We’re doing good, aren’t we, Miss Bea?” 

He unclipped her from the carrier to let the pastor hold her for a moment. “Careful about your earrings, she’s in a ‘grab at shiny things’ phase,” he warned.

Sure enough, two seconds later, the baby made concerted effort to tug at Allison’s left ear. The pastor gently pulled her down in her lap, just as Hardison pulled out a shiny set of plastic toy keys, seemingly out of nowhere. With her stuffed rabbit dangling by an ear in her mouth, the baby grabbed at the keys and jostled them happily.

Nana watched the whole display with a fond little smile. “What did I tell you? He’s a natural with babies.” 

He shrugged one shoulder bashfully. “Nah, I mean, I just do what Nana does.” 

“Uh huh, don’t think flattery’s going to get you out of laundry duty,” Nana said, as she poured out a cup of tea for the pastor and glass of water for Hardison.

“Uh hey, we got anymore--”

“Water, Alec. No more of that fizzy orange stuff, you’ve had too many already today,” Naa chastised. She turned to their guest and said, “He takes better care of the little ones than he does himself.”

Allison jauntily toasted his glass of water with her tea. “I came by to see how the research project is going?”

Hardison nodded. “One second, lemme get the stuff.” He jogged back to his room to retrieve a set of neatly filed printouts. After seeing how quickly and efficiently he had navigated the hospital computer system, Allison had decided to give him one more task - helping her research potential parents for Beatrice. She had made a short list based her contacts among social workers, adoption agencies and church friends but official channels only got them so far.

Hardison came back handed her the documents. “I think we have a winner,” he announced, tapping the top pages. “Lisa and Felix Tan.”

He shifted a little, blocking the documents from his Nana’s direct view. Technically, she knew about this project. In fact, she knew that he did “research” on all the potential adoptive parents of the kids that came through their house. He was just careful to make sure that she never knew that some of the research came through questionably legal means...like maybe hacking into DMV and police records.

Allison made a surprised little noise. “The Tans weren’t high on my list.” They had been #5 out of 7 prospective families to be exact. Hardison had crossed out Family #3 right away (Taylor had come to Nana from them - standard only-looks-good-on-paper couple, they wanted a perfect child and can’t deal with anything different) and Family #1 had been instantly eliminated by Nana (“That marriage is not half as strong as they make it out to be and Lord knows a baby’s not going to fix that.”)

The other two had been eliminated with a bit more research - #2 had a cheating husband with half a dozen online dating accounts and #4 had a recent reckless driving charge in Canada that never made it into the adoption application file. 

The Tans had been low on the list since they weren’t quite as financially secure as the other families and Felix had a reported drunk and disorderly arrest from some years back, but a quick peek into bank records found a healthy, if modest, amount of savings with a savvy pension plan, and the police files showed the arrest was just college shenanigans with no conviction and not so much as a parking ticket since then. 

Hardison had done a thorough search of everything on the Tans - social media, government records, adoption agency files. He watched as Allison pages through the files. “They’re not perfect. Relatively new to town, no family in the area, not a huge support network but they look like they make friends easily. Money’s tight but they seem to be responsible.”

Beatrice dropped the toy keys and patted her chubby hands at the picture of the Tans in the file. 

“Plus, I think Miss Bea likes them,” Hardison added.

Allison nodded. “I think you’re right. I’ll make the calls and get this arranged,” she said, smiling up at him. “This was faster than I expected. Good work, Alec.”

He rubbed his neck shyly and mumbled, “It’s nothing, just some searches and stuff…” He trailed off as Beatrice tossed the plastic keys on the floor and started to wriggle. Allison held her close and made soothing little noises. When she turned to looked at Hardison, she saw that he was already halfway through preparing a bottle. 

Just as the baby moved from distressed fussing into crying, Hardison swooped her up and presented her with the bottle, which she immediately began drinking.

“You sure you don’t want to keep her yourself?” Allison said, only half-joking.

Hardison thought about his research into the Tans. He wasn’t clairvoyant but he had seen enough families and dug into enough background checks to make some pretty decent predictions. Here were two devoted parents and a comfortable home; she’d grow up the apple of their eyes and never have to worry about getting shunted from foster home to foster home. 

“Nah,” Hardison said, “This is the right move.”

\---  
Nevertheless, when the Tans had turned up at the doorstep less than a week later, dressed in their Sunday best and bursting with parental eagerness, Hardison had gotten a little teary-eyed. He rambled at them for a solid half hour with detailed instructions about her likes and dislikes with Nana chuckled beside him. The young couple listened raptly and the husband even took notes, which Hardison definitely counted as a point in his favor. 

When they left, both new parents were laden with baby things and food (“Listen, she’s an angel but believe me, you kids won’t have the energy to cook,” Nana said, shoving a tupperware full of stew at them.). Lisa Tan held Beatrice in her arms, constantly looking down at the baby with awe and reluctant to let go even for a moment. 

Hardison walked them out to their car, helping to carry all the things and giving advice up to the last minute. As they strapped her into the the car seat (after checking each buckle three times over), Beatrice started to nod off to sleep, tired from all the excitement of the day. Her stuffed, red bunny slipped from her little hands.

“Oh! Don’t forget Bun-bun!” Hardison said, catching it before it hit the ground. He tucked in next to her cheek and and she hugged it sleepily. He grinned and gave her one last kiss to the head. “You’re gonna be okay, kid, I’m sure of it.”


	4. Epilogue

_5 Years Post-Series_

“Aw, he has your smile,” Hardison cooed, starting a game of peek-a-boo with the giggling baby.

“And your weird ears!” Parker added cheerfully, wiggling her fingers over Hardison’s head to get the baby’s attention.

Amy laughed. “Thanks, guys,” she replied, long used to her ex-employers oddities. 

Eliot leaned against the counter, occasionally pulling funny faces whenever when the baby looked his way. “Lemme know when you guys plan on starting him on solids. I’ve got a bunch of baby food recipes that my sisters swear by.”

“That’d be great, thanks, Eliot!”

The baby froze mid-giggle, suddenly scrunching up his face in a determined grimace. “Uh oh, incoming,” Hardison said. “Someone’s going to need a new diaper.”

Eliot scoffed, “You can tell that just from him pulling a face? That’s not---” An unmistakable odor rendered his point moot.

“It’s a very distinctive face,” Hardison said smugly, picking the baby up out of his carrier. 

“Oh! I left the spare diapers in the car, I’ll be back in a flash,” Amy said, darting out of the brew pub. As she re-entered a minute later with the diaper bag, she crashed into a server, spilling water on patron’s table. 

“Oh, geez, I’m so sorry!” exclaimed the server. 

“No, it’s my fault. Here,” she said, handing the diaper bag over to the server. “Get this over to Hardison, I’ll take care of this.”

Turning to the patron, she grabbed a stack of napkins to start cleaning up the water.

“I’m so sorry about this! Did it get on any of your things?” Amy asked, as the girl at the table hastily moved her backpack and notebook of out of the way.

“No, no, it’s fine,” the dark-haired girl said. She gestured to a little red cloth bunny tied to a keychain on her bag. “Bun-bun got splashed a little, I think, but it’s just water.” The girl picked up her notebook and flipped through it quickly, checking for water stains. “We’re good. No harm, no foul.”

Amy took a peek and saw that it was actually a sketchbook, with what looked like sketches for a graphic novel. “Those are really good, if you don’t mind my saying.”

The girl blushed, ducking her head. “Thanks. It’s something I’m working on for my art school application portfolio.”

“May I see?” The girl handed the sketch book over. Amy browsed through the last few pages.   
“Writing your own fairytale?”

“Something like that. It’s kind of autobiographical, I suppose.” 

“These really are lovely. Are you planning on applying to the art school here in Portland?” Amy asked.

“Yeah, and a few other places. I’m from the East Coast but I’m touring all over to check out schools.”

Amy smiled, encouragingly, “Well, Portland’s great. I graduated from art school here a couple of years back and I’m working as an illustrator with a local children’s publishing house now. If you have any questions, I’d be happy to help out.”

“Oh, thank you! I thought...you don’t work here?”

Amy shook her head. “Nah, used to, back when I was in art school, actually. I’m still friends with the owners though,” she said, gesturing to the trio behind the counter, taking turns playing with the freshly-changed baby. “Speaking of which, if you do end up going to school here and you need a part-time job, you won’t find a better place than the brew pub.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, good pay, great benefits, and they’re really understanding about student hours. They’re really great bosses.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” the girl said dryly, looking over at the bar where Parker was holding the baby aloft in an re-enactment of the Lion King while Eliot hummed the Circle of Life and Hardison filmed the whole scene on his phone. 

“Okay, they’re a bit odd but believe me,” Amy said with a chuckle, “they’ll go above and beyond to help people out. In fact, I’m about to ask them to be my son’s godparents.”

The girl grinned. “You know, somehow, I get the feeling they’d be really good at it.”


End file.
